


Not All Who Wander Are Lost

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Child, Fantasy, Gen, child russia, forest, idk - Freeform, wolf - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-30 01:28:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5145242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“W-Where are we, Locke?” Ivan asked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not All Who Wander Are Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Eighth grade essay narrative thing. I dunno, it's cute. If you enjoyed, leave a kudos and a comment!

_I am going to die. I am going to die. This wolf is going to lunge and kill me, and I will never see big sister Katyushka, or little sister Natalia ever again._ A small child was cowering against a snow-covered, fallen log, his soft, black ushanka collecting the lightly falling snow that managed to sift through the thick treetops of the Russian forest, the snow on the child’s thick, brown, leather mittens melting on his warm face. Moving one, his bleary, violet eyes took a moment to focus before the child took in the wolf’s appearance. It had vibrant, amber-coloured eyes, which, to the child, had a hunger and brutal look. Making its eyes look much more playful and alive, the wolf bore white-coloured fur that looked like two eye patches around the amber orbs. From there, the fur in between the wolf’s eyes was a dark, chocolate brown, going up its forehead and fading out to a milky-tan colour. Most of the wolf’s underside was white, but on its shoulders and hind flanks, its pelt faded from white to the same colour of tan as on its forehead. Splashes of browns and a few patches of gray variously covered its whole back. Ivan, the child, was terrified, but he had a strange urge to go and pet the wolf; its fur looking very fluffy and soft. Instead of reaching out his hand, he just pressed himself further against the log he so badly wished to become one with, the wolf having had moved closer, its teeth bared and a low, snarly growl was rumbling deep within its chest. Before, the wolf had been about a metre away from the child, but now it was creeping closer, its muzzle about thirty or forty centimetres away. Thirty or forty centimetres away from the crying child’s face. Thirty or forty centimeters away from sharp, pointed, and off-white teeth lashing out and clamping themselves around a fragile neck, ending a being’s life in an instant.

Ivan had always heard about men going off into the forest to hunt, or to retrieve firewood, but the stories of their encounters with the Eurasian wolves were those of great, heroic battles, finally getting their fatal blow and sending the “great, burly beasts of the Russian woods” down to the ground, bleeding and unable to move. Whenever his Papa would return with one of the dead creatures, he always claimed that “it was wounded, or ill, or caught in a trap” and that he “killed it to put it out of its misery.” Ivan wasn’t dumb, though. It was a sport. He had always loathed it when his father would bring home the corpse of a very beautiful wolf. Now, he was changing his thoughts. He was scared, which was uncharacteristic to him, because Katyushka and Natalia always called him their protector, and Ivan always told them he would protect them no matter what. Now, he was doubting this. Now, he was losing confidence in himself. He was going to die because he couldn’t follow his Mama’s instructions to stay out of the woods.

The wolf crept closer, still; its lips pulled back into a vicious snarl.

“Ne delayte mne bolʹno!” Ivan cried in his native Russian tongue, his body trembling. The wolf was millimetres from his face, its nostrils causing freezing cold snot to fly on the child’s cheeks. In a flash, Ivan was gone, running as fast as his little legs could carry him. He darted around, looking for any familiar landmark that told him he was near an exit to the forest. There wasn’t any sign of the wolf behind him, and he thought he was safe until his foot caught a frozen root, his ankle twisting painfully. Ivan let out a shriek as he fell face-first into a mixture of ice and snow. Rolling onto his back, the Russian child looked up, immediately and instinctively rolled back onto his side, hands going to the back of his neck in order to protect himself. The wolf was right there, its mouth opening and shutting again, as if it was attempting to decide whether to end the child’s life or not. It seemed like a million years until the wolf made up its mind. Ivan’s violet eyes were wide open and clearly read fear. His face was streaked with tears, his nose and cheeks a rosy pink from both the nippy chill of the wind, and from crying. As the wolf advanced upon the poor child, Ivan tried to disappear into the ground, trying to just disappear from the position he was in.

Lowering its nose closer and closer to Ivan’s rosy red face, the wolf puffed its breaths, almost purposely trying to scare the child. Ivan was shaking violently; both from the fear, and also from the chill of the snow. His ushanka had been discarded when he fell, and now his body heat was almost rushing out of the top of his head like the fast-paced current of a river. The wolf moved, its front paws laying on either side of the little arms of the boy, efficiently pinning him, as if he would move again. The wolf lowered its muzzle so its wet nose rested on one of Ivan’s eyebrows, leaving the widened eye to stare right at the row of teeth inside the wolf’s mouth. Making a squeak, Ivan squeezed his eyes shut and nearly soiled himself from fright, the whole situation being almost as scary as his nightmares at night. When he opened his eyes again, they immediately and instinctively widened, like a deer in a head light’s would, in pure terror. The wolf’s mouth was slowly opening; slower than Ivan thought any being or animal could move. It felt like hours before the wolf finally moved again, its jaw completely open, revealing its huge, pink mouth. Ivan was so close that he could see little spots of white and brown-black skin on the roof and near the back of its throat, but the little Russian child knew that that was just its natural colouring.

The child closed his eyes again when he saw movement, but what Ivan didn’t know was that the wolf was sticking its tongue out of its mouth. The huge, bright pink muscle slid across the little, rosy cheek, lapping up the salty tears. Ivan was shaking violently with fear and cold, and when he opened his eyes to see that the wolf was licking his face. In his childish manner, a smile grew upon his face, and he looked up. Was the wolf licking him in a friendly way, or was he just cleaning a spot off to chomp? He made his mind up, and reached up to pet the wolf’s neck. It gave out a warning growl, and Ivan pulled back, but the child was able to pet it.

“I think I will call you Locke.” Ivan spoke aloud, smiling, not caring if the wolf was of the male or female sex. The wolf backed up and sat down a few feet in front of the child, and Ivan sat up. He crawled over and sat in front of the wolf on his knees, pulling off his thick, leather mittens. Once they were off, it took a matter of seconds before the icy cold air nipped at his milky white skin, but they were warmed when Locke pressed his body against Ivan. He smiled, getting to his feet. Even when the Russian was on his feet, the wolf’s head reached Ivan’s. Locke was huge; far bigger than he had ever seen. As Ivan looked the wolf over, it looked him over, its soft, black nose nudging the child’s leather and fur jacket, nuzzling into the creases, sniffing his heavy, wool, and very itchy pants, and then Locke licked Ivan’s boots, the leather having a salty, yet dry taste. The creature thought this was odd, but he liked the taste, there being not a lot of salt in its everyday diet.

Raising its great head, the wolf looked into the child’s amethyst eyes, the glimmer in the animal’s amber eyes being almost like a greeting to Ivan. He patted the fluffy head and retrieved his mittens, pulling them on and tightening the leather, braided strings so no snow would slip down in between the sensitive skin and fur that lined the mittens. Ivan grabbed a handful of fur, pulling himself up. It must have tugged only a bit on the skin of the wolf, for it sort of pulled away, but Ivan situated himself on the back, kind of laying on the wide yet slim, muscular back of Locke, his cheek resting on the spot where the shoulder blades met so that when Locke started to walk forwards, it made a gentle kneading feel on the side of the Russian child’s face. Ivan smiled to himself, the wolf now, somehow, a comforting presence instead of the terrifying and deadly one it was earlier. Little, mittened hands clutched to the fur as Locke started to trot, trying to build up enough momentum to get through the snow and keep an easy pace, but slow enough so that the child on its back would not fall off.

Locke, after knowing that Ivan was comfortable on top, started to speed up, the child sat up slowly, his tiny little knees clenching Locke’s sides. He never felt so free, and happy. With both hands buried in the wolf’s fur, Ivan sat up straight, rolling his hips in time with Locke’s movements so he wasn’t uncomfortable. Locke started to run faster, Ivan felt more and more comfortable on the wolf’s back, having had experience with riding horses. That was one of Ivan’s favourite things to do, riding horses. He felt so in control and free when he was on the back of a mare or stallion.

The wolf took a sharp, and purposeful, turn, throwing the boy off his back. Letting out a yell of surprise, Ivan rolled in the snow, sitting up and pouting as the wolf threw its head back and made little barking sounds like Locke was mimicking laughter. It trotted over to him and licked his face. Ivan smiled, giggling as he got to his feet and jumped back up onto the wolf. It went at a slower pace this time, taking an unusual way. The plants turned from deathly-brown and the occasional green to blues, reds, and purples. The leaves turned cyan-coloured, teardrop-shaped, and started to glow like nothing Ivan had ever seen before. The snow eventually thinned out, and revealed a soft red-coloured, dirt, forest floor. As Ivan came to notice, the treetops had also grown very dense, thus the lack of snow, and the bright colours. The plants seemed to emit their own light, for when the wolf walked passed them, the different rays of light shone their multiple colours on Locke’s pelt. It was very odd; something that wouldn’t usually happen in nature. The tree trunks were tinted purple, and they grew funny shaped, little fruits.

Pulling on Locke’s fur, the wolf stopped and Ivan slid off, landing on his feet. It was warmer here than out in the bitter cold of Russia, and when Ivan took off his mittens, his sensitive skin was engulfed in a cocoon of warmth. He smiled, walking towards one of the plants. Extending a little arm, the very tips of the pads of the boy’s fingers touched its leaves, and, with a weird sound, the leaf curled up tightly as a protective move. Ivan jumped back with a surprised squeak, but touched another leaf, it doing the same as the earlier. This was weird, but it felt oddly satisfying to touch a leaf and watch it curl away from him as a defensive move. Running to another plant, Ivan touched its leaves. Instead of curling away, the leaf changed colours. This was highly fascinating to the small, Russian child, because it was very rare for him to see such vibrant and exciting colours. Ivan repeatedly hit the leaves, each going through a cycle starting with cyan blue, then switching to a neon pink, orange, red, green, and then back to cyan blue. He was having the time of his life just playing with the plants. When Ivan walked up to a plant, he saw it had many small leaves. With a touch, Ivan pressed his finger to a leaf. It emitted a single note. Ivan touched the one next to it, and it emitted a note as well, but this one was lower. Toying around with the leaves, Ivan figured out what note was where, and, to his amusement, played a short part of a song called Korobeiniki. This was Ivan’s favourite song because it was so melodic sounding to the Russian child. Running towards another plant, Ivan almost literally smacked it, giggling as it made a shrill squeak, drying up like a dead leaf. The musical plant was more fascinating, but this one was pretty fun.

Ivan ran around, continuing to play with the different plants, finding that the waist-high grasses were soft to the touch, and when you laid down, the crushed and flattened grasses formed a mattress-type thing. It was super comfy, and after a few hours of running around and playing and giggling, and occasionally chasing or being chased by Locke, Ivan was tuckered out. Laying down, he smiled as Locke made a small circle and curled up. Ivan was happier than he had been for a while, and after a while, he fell asleep. Knowing this, Locke stood, nuzzling Ivan for a moment before gently picking the child up by clamping its jaw around the leather folds of Ivan’s jacket, lifting him and placing him carefully on Locke’s back. The Russian boy made a little whimper as he snuggled up against the warm fur and body of his new wolf friend. Locke bit the mittens and carried them as the wolf turned out of the fun playground. The sky was now pitch black, speckled by glittery stars. It was beautiful. Lifting its head, the wolf inhaled the bitter cold wind, turning its head and running. Locke ran and ran, being careful so that the child on its back wouldn’t fall off. Running, the wolf’s glittering, amber eyes caught the sight of smoke spewing from the chimney of the cabin. This was Ivan’s. Locke could tell from the familiarity of the scents that emitted from the child.

“W-Where are we, Locke?” Ivan asked, the wolf unable to understand the child’s strange language. It sounded like a string of randomly assembled notes. The Russian slid off of the wolf’s back and grabbed his mittens, putting them on. Looking up, Ivan’s bleary eyes finally adjusted, and realised that he was at his house. Walking to the steps, Ivan turned to say goodbye to the wolf but the creature had vanished. Smiling softly to himself, the child climbed the stairs and opened the door, being welcomed by his worried siblings and mother.

Getting lost was fun sometimes.


End file.
